


The Monsters and Goyles That Lurk in the Way

by novak



Category: Electronic Dance Music RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bad Writing, Horror, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-16
Updated: 2013-04-16
Packaged: 2017-12-08 16:03:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/763293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/novak/pseuds/novak
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sebastian and Vincent move to a small French town to get away from the hustle and bustle of the city. What they don't realise, however, is that Uzes is incredibly superstitious - and for good reason. When they find themselves being haunted by a black-bodied, white-eyed entity, they go to their friends Xavier and Gaspard for guidance. The question is whether they are too late to escape the repercussions of encroaching on the creature's territory.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Monsters and Goyles That Lurk in the Way

**Author's Note:**

> this is badly written, sorry.  
> i don't often write long things and so the quality declines as it progresses.  
> written last year in september/october for the edm mini bang on tumblr.

Moving to Uzès is, in Vinco’s opinion, one of the best decisions they’ve ever made. Sebastian disagrees, although he is infinitely happier that Gaspard and Xavier have also taken residence in the small town.

The weather is cold, particularly at night, and Sebastian takes it as an excuse to stay inside and ruin the walls of their run-down apartment with cigarette smoke while he shops online for things he doesn’t need, like more black shirts or a rubber-duck patterned shower curtain.

The apartment block itself used to be a whole house that was divided into two small flats some fifty years ago. The wallpaper is wrinkled and outdated, as is the carpet, but Kavinsky insists that it’s ‘cosy’ and Sebastian spends too much of his time wondering how much poisonous mould resides beneath the wallpaper or if there’s asbestos in the ceiling.

The apartment next door is empty, based on some superstition that runs deep through the town’s veins. The apartment was cheap, though, and that’s all that matters. Gaspard and Xavier live nearby, anyway; same small, narrow street, even. The population of Uzès isn’t conducive to a large territory.

Vincent soon became a policeman to the small town, although the crime rate is minimal - everybody knows everybody, here (with the exception of Sebastian, of course. He’s generally avoided). The only neighbourhood disturbances are childish teenage boys throwing eggs at peoples’ homes. Sebastian doesn’t think that requires Vinco to demand a firearm (his request was denied, thankfully), but he appreciates the standard navy blue uniform all the same, even if it is made of starchy, noisy cotton.

Vinco comes home at 5:00pm today, to Sebastian sitting on the couch attempting to write. He’s a struggling writer for the local newspaper, and as small and insignificant as it is, he still wrestles with being productive. Vinco comes close and reads over his shoulder, pressing a whiskery kiss to his smooth cheek in greeting.

“Looking good, Sebos,” he says, smoothing down his boyfriend’s hair affectionately as he undoes the buttons of his shirt. “What’s for dinner?”

Sebastian’s upper lip snarls some at the question; he doesn’t want to become a housewife, not to Vinco, not to anybody. “I thought we could order in,” he says, fumbling with his cigarette pack. He lips one out of the box and lights up, turning to look at Vinco, waiting for an answer. Vincent looks quizzical for a second, his eyebrows knitting together; there’s only two take-out places in town, one for pizza and the other questionable Chinese food.

“I’ll call for pizza,” he says, scratching at his stubble. He leans down and kisses Sebastian’s hair again, petting his shoulder gently. “Mozzarella?” he asks, but he already knows the answer. Sebastian gives him a smile full of tiny, yellowing teeth and nods.

Vinco disappears for a shower and the pizza arrives while he’s gone. Sebastian doesn’t like to answer the door, it makes him uncomfortable, but he does it anyway. He’s eaten half of his pizza by the time Vinco resurfaces, beads of water dripping from the ends of his greying hair. Sebastian teases him when he sits down, fingering a wet strand before tugging enough to make Vinco wince. “Do you never dry your hair properly?” he asks, his tone lilting and uncharacteristically bright.

Vinco looks at him, working his way through a too-large mouthful of pizza, “Looks better when it dries by itself.” He explains, and Sebastian’s nose wrinkles when a small fleck of either pizza or saliva lands upon his cheek. He wipes it away and brings his socked feet up onto the couch, turning his attention to the television while he eats, sitting on his calves.

It’s later in the night, when their bedroom is dark and Vinco is snoring quietly beside him, that the walls begin to whisper.

Sebastian lays on his back, stiff as a soldier on duty, eyes bugging out of his skull. The walls sigh nonsense while something inside of them scratches at the plaster, chittering either to itself or to Sebastian - he’s unsure.

He wets his lips with a nervous flicker of his tongue, heart rate climbing, racing. He can’t tell what the walls are muttering - it’s too quiet, like someone just letting the words fall from their lungs on a breath. He turns on his side, pressing tightly against Vinco with his face buried in the sheets like a child fending off a nightmare. He squeezes his eyes shut and prays for morning to come quickly.

-

He doesn’t tell Vinco about his experience; he’ll only be laughed at. Instead, when Vinco is still asleep, Sebastian crawls out of bed in the soft blue-grey light of morning. The whisperings ceased as the sky began to lighten and Sebastian has had next to no sleep, blue eyes buried in dark, tired shadows. He dons clean underwear and a new pair of jeans, a navy-blue button down shirt and a black sweater. He kisses Vinco’s cheek and then frowns at himself for being such a sap. He decides he’ll blame it on his sleep deprivation. He leaves a note to Vinco on the kitchen counter - “Gone out. I’ll be back soon. Sebos xx”.

He throws a scarf around his throat and pulls on his favourite black leather shoes before he deems himself ready to face the world. Wallet and smokes in pocket, he leaves the apartment.

-

It’s freezing outside. Sebastian shivers as he walks, his breath lingering in damp clouds of vapour as he stomps his way down the quiet, sleepy street. He doesn’t have a cigarette yet; the walk is too short. He knows Gaspard will already be awake, Xavier too, and both of them are probably preparing for the day of work ahead of them.

He gets to their front door, nestled in a small, narrow house wedged into the crowded street. It’s squashed both inside and out but the narrow space seems to suit Gaspard and Xavier; they’re both made for living in close quarters, Sebastian thinks, unlike himself and Vincent.

He raps his knuckles thrice against the heavy, worn oak of their front door, standing pack with his hands buried in his pockets. His cheeks are red and his nose is running and he’s sure he looks like a knock-kneed school boy when the door swings open. It’s Gaspard, preparing to go down to the church for the morning service there. Sebastian offers a tight-lipped smile and Gaspard invites him inside.

They sit at the tiny, circular dining table in the kitchen area, talking idly over two steaming cups of coffee before Sebastian leans close, eyes on Gaspard’s. “I need to talk to you about something,” he says, his voice quiet, secretive. Xavier would probably laugh if he overheard the conversation but Sebastian is quite sure that he’s dozing on the couch until he needs to leave for work; he’s the manager of a small corner store.

Gaspard says nothing, only nods his head in invitation. He’s always been quiet; it doesn’t unnerve Sebastian in the slightest. He looks down into his mug of coffee and runs his finger around the rim of it slowly, thinking on how to word this in a way that won’t spawn the accusation that he’s insane.

He takes a deep breath and looks up, Gaspard offering an understanding smile with those kind, honey-brown eyes of his. Sebastian sucks his lips into his mouth, chewing them nervously before he figures he should just get it off his chest.

“Last night, when Vinco was sleeping, the walls in the bedroom began to... whisper.” It sounds ludicrous now that he’s said it aloud. “I don’t know what they were saying, or whether it was real, but there was whispering and scratching, like the sound of mice. But it was too loud to be mice, and mice can’t talk.” His tone is nervous and unlike his usual self but Gaspard understands. He reaches out and covers Sebastian’s hands with one of his own, soothing the fidgeting while he thinks. Sebastian has a tendency to tear at his cuticles with his nails when under stress - it makes everybody crazy, especially when he makes himself bleed.

With Gaspard’s measured silence, Sebastian takes the opportunity to light a cigarette, mostly for something to do but also in an attempt to assure himself that he’s not crazy, that the walls were actually talking and that he has nothing to be afraid of.

Gaspard eventually says something, but it’s soft, too soft. Sebastian leans closer, eyes fixed on Gaspard’s face, his moustache-clad mouth, “Pardon?”

“Do you know the saying around the town?” he repeats, looking up at Sebastian with those knowing eyes of his. Sebos shakes his head and Gaspard’s mouth purses. “The saying is, ‘When the walls begin to whisper, it’s all over.’ Something to do with an urban legend around here.”

The news is less than helpful. In fact, it frustrates Sebastian, somewhat; his experience wasn’t some imagined supernatural activity, it wasn’t something to be attributed to being tired or influenced by a shitty urban legend. “What’s the legend?” He asks, despite the fact he’s growing more and more bitter with the situation every passing second. Gaspard shrugs and takes a long swallow of his coffee, “I don’t know all of it. I’ll ask around today, if you want.” Sebastian nods and stubs out his cigarette in the ashtray on the table. He’d much rather Gaspard do the research; he knows if he were to do it online, himself, it’d only serve to panic him further.

They sit a while longer until Xavier drags himself into the kitchen. He drapes himself across Gaspard’s lap, slender arms wrapping loosely around his neck while he eyes Sebastian with a haughty arrogance that looks good on him even when his hair is sleep-mussed, flat on one side from the weight of his head against the couch pillow. He turns and presses a full-lipped kiss against the corner of Gaspard’s lips, who looks torn about it - but then again, he always does. A pastor for a small, God-fearing French town in a homosexual relationship with a sultry little minx. It’s their secret, though; Gaspard’s and Xavier’s, and Vinco’s and his. They’re friends, and friends keep secrets for friends - which works in Sebastian’s favour, really, when Xavier asks, “What were you talking about?”

“Vinco’s birthday party,” Gaspard answers. “His birthday is soon and we want to celebrate. It’s going to be a surprise party.” Xavier analyses the answer, nods once in understanding, and goes back to toying with Gaspard’s curls.

Sebastian gets up to leave, offering a soft farewell. Neither of the men hear it; Gaspard’s whole world is Xavier, and visa versa. Sebastian’s nothing more than an unnoticed third wheel when the pair are in one another’s company.

-

When he gets home, he has a small paper bag tucked under one arm - he visited the bakery on his walk home, mostly so Vinco could have something to eat before he went to work. The bread is still warm when he pulls it from the bag and slices it into two slightly wonky halves. He butters the bread heavily, because that’s the way Vinco likes it, and then takes it into him in the bedroom. Vinco is wiggling into his pants and Sebastian ignores the lithe movements of his hips. “I got you some breakfast,” he says, thrusting the bread outwards. Vinco grins and snatches it. His thank you is a coffee-scented kiss on Sebastian’s cheek.

Sebastian smoothes the wrinkles out of Vinco’s regulation shirt while he eats, and they share a final brief kiss before Vinco leaves for the day.

Sebastian retires to the couch, laptop on his knees, and goes back to writing an article about the town’s tourism industry - which is sluggish and barely there, he discovers. Apparently more people know about the legend than he and Vinco do. That makes him uncomfortable; how could he have not known?

-

Gaspard calls from the church mid-afternoon with news of the legend. Sebastian listens quietly, making appropriate, “Mm,” noises whenever one of Gaspard’s sentences invites input.

“Basically,” Gaspard says. “They say there’s a man named Franck Rivoire. He grew up in the town and everything, but wasn’t well-known. Apparently people didn’t really recommend going near him, something to do with anger management.”  
“Oh?”  
“Yeah. Anyway, he lived in the house that you have now seventy years ago or something, they said. One night, he just disappeared. No one knew what happened to him or why he left. They searched for a week and dropped the case. Since his disappearance people said they’ve seen this... Thing in the forest. They say it’s tall, and black like the night time, with these big glowing eyes like stars burning holes in its face. Apparently it eats people.” Sebastian purses his lips; it sounds to him like they’re getting off-track but he trusts Gaspard to right himself and find his previous line of thought - even though a tale about a forest-demon doesn’t concern him all that much.

“They divided this house into apartments five decades ago, right?” Gaspard says, and Sebastian goes, “Mmhm.”

“They said that’s the last time it came into town. When they turned your house, Franck’s house, into two apartments, he came back - and he was controlling the spirit that people had seen in the forest. He killed six people and the monster ate their bones, apparently. They say that he lives in the walls, and comes out after nightfall. He’s like, some immortal entity now. The black thing he controls, they call it Danger - I guess ‘cause it’s dangerous.” Gaspard tries to offer a small laugh but gets nothing out of Sebastian.  
“Yeah.” Seb’s not sure that he wants to hear any more. He fidgets with the cord on the telephone where he’s sitting on a barstool beside it, barefoot and worried, nervous. He doesn’t want to lean on the walls.

There’s a long, slow silence between the pair of them before Gaspard softly asks, “Are you alright, Sebos?”

Sebastian licks his lips and clears his throat softly, trying to wrap his head around the fact they chose this apartment to live in, of all houses. He’s kind of annoyed with the real estate agent for not telling them otherwise. “Yeah,” he says eventually. “Yeah, I’ll be alright. I just need to wait ‘til Vinco comes home.”

Sebastian can practically hear Gaspard’s worried smile through the telephone. “Call if you need,” he says, tone sincere, and Sebastian nods, looking down at his lap.

“I will.”

Gaspard hangs up and Sebastian feels alone.

-

Vinco comes home later than usual; something about a car accident on the highway leading into Uzès. Sebastian’s not really listening as they twirl pasta around their forks - Vinco made alfredo pasta for dinner. Sebastian’s grateful to be free of the burden of feeding his boyfriend, even if it’s only one night.

“You’re quiet, Sebos,” Vinco says when he’s finished listing the events of his day. He touches a socked foot to Sebastian’s under the table, giving an affectionate little rub. Sebastian pulls his foot away, brows knitting tightly together on his forehead, and Vinco tries not to look offended.

“Vinco, I need to tell you something,” he says, looking down at his pasta. He feels Vinco lean closer and he knows there’s worried lines on his forehead and soft eyes where there’s usually laughter and teasing. “Last night, when you were sleeping. Uh,” he wants a cigarette, shit, he wants one so bad, something to hide behind, a smoke screen. He can’t meet Vinco’s eyes, “You have to promise you won’t think I’m crazy, okay?”  
“Okay, Sebos. I promise.” His tone is unnervingly tender.

He starts again. “Last night, when you were sleeping, I. The walls began to whisper.” He feels Vinco shift some, but it’s only to bring a hand out, supportively wrap around Sebastian’s. Vinco rubs his thumb over the back of Sebastian’s hand, trying his best to be comforting. “I don’t know if the walls were talking to us or, or what, but I went and saw Gaspard about it this morning. He told me... All about this myth in the town, but I don’t think it’s a myth any more. Have you heard it?” Sebastian asks.  
“Which myth, Sebos?” Vinco replies, squeezing Sebastian’s hands gently. He knows it takes a lot for his boyfriend to step out of his shell, even in his company - especially on subjects where his mental health or his morals may be questioned.

“The one about Franck Rivoire, and Danger.”  
Vinco nods, “Yeah, I know it. What’s that got to do with us?”

 

Sebastian looks up at Vinco with accusing eyes, slightly wet with tears because he’s frightened, he hates this. He can’t even eat the pasta that Vinco made for him, and that’s probably the most distressing thing of all. “This was Franck’s house,” Sebastian says, “Before he disappeared. No one told us.”

Vincent shifts a little; he wants to laugh it off, hide behind his jokes, but he knows that Sebastian is fragile in his current state of mind.

“I know you don’t believe me Vinco but, I can... The whispers I can prove. Stay up with me tonight? In our bedroom.”

Vincent nods; he has tomorrow off anyway unless there’s another incident on the highway, and he doubts that’ll happen.

They spend the rest of the night entwined together on the couch, Vinco kissing Sebastian’s hair again and again, trying to soothe him. It rolls around to midnight and they decide to go to bed. Sebastian turns off the kitchen lights and locks the front door while Vinco turns off the television. They briefly link hands as they go into their bedroom. They leave the door open; they’ve no reason to close it.

Sebastian changes into his pyjamas, a loose black shirt which is probably Vinco’s, and oversized grey cotton bottoms. He crawls into bed and Vinco slithers in beside him, prepared for a night of indulging Sebastian’s terrors - which may or may not be hallucinations. They turn off their bedside lamps and wait.

The whispering starts within thirty seconds and Sebastian worms his way closer to Vinco, face rumpled with fright. Vinco holds him, listening to the sounds; the only word he can catch is, “Leave, leave, leave,” breathed again and again like an ancient chant.

Sebastian hides his face in Vinco’s chest; he doesn’t like things out of the ordinary, he doesn’t cope well with things living in his fucking walls and he doesn’t think he should have to. Vinco watches, listens, trying to remain critical of the situation and not let his fear take hold. He’s a police officer, for fuck’s sake; he can deal with a little whispering in the dry wall.

It’s only when black, thick, oily liquid begins to leach from a crack in the ceiling that Vinco begins to fret, begins to tense and move uncomfortably. His heart rate triples, his palms begin to sweat, he brings his knees up closer to his chest in an attempt to protect himself, to feel better. He wants to burrow down into the bed like Sebastian. He watches the substance move with his eyes bugging out of his skull, the way it shimmers some, like static on a television screen. Even in the darkness of the bedroom, he can see it looks damaged, like it’s been burned.

“Sebos,” he says, louder than a whisper. Sebastian looks up as the thing falling from the wall forms a hand, long fingered and bony, reaching out for the carpet to support itself. Sebastian lurches across Vinco and slams the switch of the bedside lamp once more. The light flickers on and the thing hisses audibly, disappearing quickly back into the walls to soothe its burns.

Sebastian and Vinco sleep with the light on that night, and every night thereafter, until Franck makes his appearance a week later.

-

They’re getting ready for bed when it happens. Vinco’s brushing his teeth in the bathroom and Sebastian is fussing over the sheets. The whispering hasn’t happened since they started sleeping with the lights on; Franck doesn’t like the light apparently.

It happens quickly, too quickly for Sebastian to really register what’s going on. Something races through the open space in the ceiling, something heavy. It sounds cat sized, maybe a little larger. Sebastian and Vinco stare at eachother, wide-eyed through the open bathroom door, and the lights flicker once, twice, and fade.

“Vinco?” Sebastian calls. His voice is a whimper.

“I’m here Sebos, I’m here, it’s alright.” Sebastian can hear shuffling as Vinco tries to find his way in the dark; their eyes haven’t adjusted yet. The moment they find each other, two bright orbs appear in the shadow of their doorway and something big and glossy moves into the square of moonlight shed on the carpet through their bedroom window. Danger.

Sebastian goes stiff, unmoving. He’s barely breathing, even. This is the stuff of his nightmares, trapped in his own home with Vinco. They’re probably going to die and it’s that realisation that makes his heart hammer into an uneven rhythm. They’re going to be slaughtered together, like cows in an abbatoir.

Danger’s face splits through the centre, where its mouth would be, and a pale face shines through as the black oil peels itself away from Franck’s body, landing on the carpet with a dull sound. Danger scurries protectively around Franck’s feet, eyes big and burning. It’s about the size of a cat like this and Sebastian decides that Franck was inside the house long before the lights went out, and simply sent Danger to do his bidding.

Vinco steps forward, chest inflated, and Danger hisses. It sounds like rain pounding against glass windowpanes.

“What do you want?” he demands, and Franck’s mouth coils into something menacing.

“I want you to get out,” he answers.

Vinco opens his mouth to retort and suddenly Franck is up close, their noses almost touching as Franck’s upper lip curls into a snarl.

Vinco’s shorter than Franck and tries to push himself up onto his toes without Franck noticing; he does, of course. He chuckles, low and dark, as he brings a hand up to grip around Vinco’s throat. Franck feels Vinco’s larynx bob as he gulps down saliva, tries to breathe properly. He can only wheeze some.

“This is my house, Vincent Belorgey,,” Franck says, Danger bouncing excitedly around his feet, encouraging him. “I was born in this house and I will stay in this house until I die, however long that takes. You’ve made a great mistake coming here.” As he talks, Danger reattaches itself to its master, stretching and warping to cloak Franck. Fingers extend around Vinco’s throat, becoming long, black spidery digits that are so, so cold; Vinco can feel the warmth of his body being sucked out through their points of contact. Sebastian is a trembling mess behind him, clutching Vinco’s shirt tightly. He tugs it every now and then in an attempt to make Franck let go. Danger’s face swallows Franck’s and the transformation is done.

“You should have listened to this town, Vincent Belorgey,” Franck and Danger say in unison. Their voices sound like something Sebastian imagines could only come from the depths of Hell itself, like a church choir distorted and looped back on itself. “You should have listened when they told you about us.” Danger’s claws bite into the back of Vinco’s neck as they lean closer, mouth opening wide. Danger’s tiny, sharp black teeth are revealed, glossy with saliva.

Vinco wriggles as best he can in Danger’s grip and Sebastian begins to try and ward them off. He grips Danger’s arm and pulls with all his might but it only earns him a second of their attention, those big white eyes latching onto his before their free hand comes up, shoves him in the chest. Sebastian falls flat on his ass, the wind knocked out of his chest. As he tries to right himself, one of Danger’s feet comes to rest on his chest, shoving him down until he’s laying on the carpet, pinned beneath the weight of a thousand years of collected matter.

They turn their attention back to Vincent and Sebastian wonders why only Vinco is being punished. He cries on the floor and claws at Danger’s calf; it only serves to get the black substance stuck beneath his nails.

“You, Vincent Belorgey, need to learn your _fucking_ place,” they say. “You need to leave this house, you need to never come back. I do not want you in my front yard, I do not want you, I do not want you.” They look down at Sebastian again. “You will leave this place, yes? You will take your Vincent and you will leave.”

Sebastian coughs on a sob and nods desperately, gasping out, “Please don’t hurt him, please don’t, please!”

Danger’s face splits into something that resembles a smirk. They turn to Vincent, leaning close. A wide mouth opens, finds Vinco’s shoulder, and bites down. Vincent howls, writhing in the vice of it, the points pushing through skin and muscle and arterial tissues. They swallow Vincent’s blood by the mouthful until he’s limp, slack and hanging by his throat. Blood is replaced by saliva and the blackness that runs through Danger’s own veins, the blood of the town’s ancestors, black with age and immortality.

They release Sebastian and Vinco at the same time. Sebastian hauls Vinco onto his back, tears streaking down his face, and flees to Gaspard and Xavier’s, Danger’s cackling staining his eardrums though the roaring of his blood and the wet sounds of his sobbing.

-

Sebastian must look a mess. It’s late when he arrives at Gaspard and Xavier’s doorstep, and he practically bashes down the door with insistent knocking until it swings open. Gaspard looks at him, his tears, and looks at Vinco and the blood seeping through his pale nightshirt from the bite. He ushers them inside and calls on Xavier, who comes stomping grumpily down the stairs until he sees Sebastian, Vinco still sprawled across his back.

Gaspard and Xavier work well together. They clean Vinco’s wound and dress it tightly to stem the blood. They rest Vinco on the couch, Gaspard watching over him while Xavier joins Sebastian in the kitchen. He makes them a coffee, lights a cigarette for Seb, and then settles quietly, trying to read the story that’s told in the lines on Sebastian’s face.

“What happened?” Xavier eventually asks.

Sebastian tells him everything, breaking down into tears as he does so.

That night, Sebastian still sleeps with the light on, curled up on a small foam mattress next to the couch. He plays with Vinco’s fingers some, talks to him, brushes his hair with his fingers. He tells Vinco how sorry he is, sorry that Vinco was the one that Franck picked and not him. He kisses his cheek bones and his mouth and mumbles his goodnight about a dozen times, hoping that there will be a corresponding, “Goodnight, Sebos.” It never comes.

-

Vincent doesn’t wake for days, but his pulse remains steady, though faint. Sebastian stays nearby at all times; he hasn’t left Xavier and Gaspard’s house for a week. He spends his days washing Vincent’s body with a wet, warm cloth, sponging his wound with saline solution to keep the bite marks clean. Towards the end of the first week, however, they begin to heal rapidly. Sebastian is unnerved but pleased all the same.

When he wakes up, however, Vinco’s pulse is gone. Sebastian wakes the household with his anguish, sobbing long and hard and throwing himself over Vinco’s body like they do in overly dramatic soap operas. Gaspard and Xavier stand in the kitchen, watching, waiting for Sebastian to calm down so that they can at least try and comfort their friend.

Sebastian leaves Vinco to go outside and smoke himself stupid, tearing through a cigarette pack in record time. It leaves him lightheaded and nauseous, but that doesn’t matter. It’s better than the cold, dead ache that’s spreading through his chest. His Vinco is gone.

He sits quietly beneath the overcast sky until Xavier comes clattering out into the cramped backyard, falling over himself and his words. “Sebos, come in, come quick!” is all Sebastian makes out in the flurry of jumbled French. He gets up slowly, wiping spilled ash from his black jeans as he goes inside, shoulders hunched. He’s not sure any of Xavier’s shenanigans could cheer him up, not now, not for a long time.

Xavier rushes him when he hears the door close, snatching his hand and hounding him into the living room. Sebastian sees a familiar, grey-haired head resting on the back of the couch and his face crumples, ready to shout angrily that this is fucked up, that people shouldn’t mess with dead bodies because it’s disrespectful, that they shouldn’t mess with this body because it’s his Vincent.

And then, the head turns, looks at him. Vinco’s skin is slightly blue, his eyes are red and Sebastian thinks he’s hallucinating. “Is. Is this a joke?” he croaks, fat, round tears dribbling down his cheeks. They drip off of his chin and onto his shirt and Vinco frowns, getting up off of the couch.

“What’s wrong?” Vinco asks, and then he turns to look at Gaspard. “Why is he crying?”

Gaspard looks thoughtful for a moment, tapping his index finger against his upper lip and then he says, sadly, “He was your boyfriend, before this happened to you.”

Vinco looks confused and Sebastian looks shattered. He turns to Xavier. “He doesn’t remember me?” he whispers hoarsely, his throat tight with tears. Xavier shakes his head slowly and tries his best to be comforting, awkwardly petting down the length of Sebastian’s spine. “He doesn’t remember anyone. He remembers where he is, and that he’s a cop, but not people. I don’t know why. I think he’s a zombie.”

Sebastian nods stiffly and looks at Vinco again. He looks like he feels truly guilty, his mouth dragged down into a tense, worried frown. He strides over nonetheless, offering one of his cheeky-Vinco-smiles. “Well, my name’s Vincent Belorgey. And you are?” he asks, extending a hand.

Sebastian smiles weakly and answers, “Sebastian Akchoté.” He shakes Vinco’s hand slowly, taking note of its temperature - it’s not cold, like what Sebastian imagines the dead would feel like, but cool like a limb that’s fallen asleep.

“Well, Sebastian,” Vinco smiles. It reminds Sebastian of when they first met, how he’d been wooed by Vinco’s confidence, his smile, his nature. “Would you like to join a zombie-cop for some breakfast?”

Sebastian looks from Xavier to Gaspard and then to Vinco, wiping the tears from his cheeks and nodding a little. “Yes please.”

Vinco smiles and takes his hand. He may not remember this Sebastian, or Xavier and Gaspard, but he’s going to do his damned best to make things go back to normal.


End file.
